Not Thinking
by burningnostalgia
Summary: Kara/Kat. "And it's curious, this tingling sensation crawling up her spine, tickling nerves and firing impulses, making her feel all sorts of things that go beyond wrong into the realm of utterly baffling, and she forces it down, eyes snapping shut."


**Title:** Not Thinking  
**Fandom:** Battlestar Galactica  
**Pairing: ** Kara/Kat  
** Rating:** Oh, I dunno. R?  
** Disclaimers:** Nope, not mine.  
** Notes:** Written for the LJ community **femslash-today**'s **celebrate! good times** porn battle, but this is the edited version.  
**Prompt:** Battlestar Galactica, Starbuck/Kat, stomp

**Not Thinking**

Kara smirks, all steel-tempered bravado, leaning back against her chair, legs propped up and boots thumping erratically against the edge of the table, and Kat's already scowling, lips pursed and jaw clenching as she lies on her bunk, facing the wall, and tries hard to pretend she's sleeping—and they've only been in the same room for a minute.

Because Kara pushes Kat so hard and so fast to that one place where everything is adrenalin and all-consuming and so gods-damned full of_ Starbuck_ that she isn't even thinking straight anymore, let alone breathing normally. And it's curious, this tingling sensation crawling up her spine, tickling nerves and firing impulses, making her feel all sorts of things that go beyond wrong into the realm of utterly baffling, and she forces it down, eyes snapping shut.

But humankind's been having a stretch of bad luck lately and Kat can't understand why her luck coincides with the mess that is the Colonial Fleet, but somehow it does and somewhere the Lords of Kobol are being entertained at her expense. Because she can hear the paced stomping of Kara's boots, can catch the slight squeak as rubber scuffs against metal, can picture so vividly the hungry look Kara gets when she wants something only Kat can give, and can't help the sudden throbbing between her legs when the stomping pauses, can't slow the fastfast_faster _racing of her heart because, sweet Aphrodite, she _wants_ this.

Wants it so much she's opening her eyes and turning around, wants it so much that she's not flinching at the lioness-grin on Kara's face but glaring right back, wants it so much she's not moving, not breathing as Kara pounces, pinning her, straddling her hips, hot breath ghosting along her neck, fingers around her wrists holding her just this side of painful but not quite that she cannot move even if she tried. Assuming she wanted to, of course.

Only when Kara stares down at her, smirking at her captivity, does Kat look up completely. For a moment they are silent, breathing not-yet-ragged but not quite steady. For a moment they stare each other down, an eternity passing in that moment; an eternity of pain and loss and hunger and more, but the hunger is stronger, bubbling up and spilling over. And Kara surges forward, lips clashing and swallowing Kat's hiss at the sudden _now_ of the action, Kara's teeth tugging at her lip, nipping and drawing blood, Kara's tongue darting and plundering deep, and Kat fighting back, growling into Kara's mouth, biting and twisting and robbing Kara of breath. Kat's not surprised but not anticipating either, because this is Starbuck and she is Kat and both are more alike than they would care to admit, pots and kettles be damned.

Kara pulls back, breathing heavy, and Kat pushes, sneering as Kara almost loses her balance, snarling when Kara pushes her harder against the stiff bunk, muscles bunching and relaxing beneath Kara's appreciative gaze. Because this is a game they play, a game Kara always starts and always finishes, but a game Kat always agrees on playing. Kara doesn't have to ask, never did and never will, because then that wouldn't be Starbuck, and because she knows Kat wants this, wants it with the same single-minded madness Kara does, wants it because sometimes she doesn't want to think of cylons or Vipers or saving the human race anymore—doesn't want to think at all.

Then Kat's wrists are free and Kara's hands are on her skin, furnace-hot and burning as they trace slow circles higher and higher, under layers of soft cotton, reaching up to cup her breasts, stroking lazily, not nearly close to where Kat wants them. Kara's hands are rough, palms calloused from handling guns and hours of flying, knuckles hard from bar brawls and striking superior officers, but the friction is so delicious, _roughsmooth_ against her heated flesh. And Kat's pushing her away and kicking off her boots, yanking off her clothes, then tugging at Kara's tanks, wanting more, needing more, tugging and almost ripping but Kara's just too quick, skinning them off with a single motion, bending back down, mouth trailing teeth along Kat's abdomen, feeling muscles taut underneath her tongue, hearing Kat's soft panting above her, tasting sweat and skin.

Hands on her shoulders, fingers twitching, clutching, grasping, down her arms, over ribs, along her back, random and directionless but Kara won't complain. Won't complain unless Kat stops squirming underneath her, unless Kat tells her she doesn't want this, but knows Kat won't stop, won't even think of stopping. Then Kara feels it, the slight muscle-shift in Kat's side, and it's very clever, really, but Kara's smarter and moves before Kat can flip them over, grabbing Kat's wrists and holding them just above her head, pressing down into the pillow.

"Keep them there," Kara growls, low and dark—not a request—and Kat knows better than to say no. There are times for that, times to argue and point fingers; now is not one of them.

Now is Kara's and Kat will comply, gasping as Kara latches onto her neck, tongue rasping against her jugular, teeth scraping—a warning—and Kat is suddenly feeling vulnerable and shuddering at the thrill that races through her blood. Kara shifts, thigh slipping in between Kat's legs, feeling Kat jerk and wants to bite down, wants to mark the sweat-slick skin, but knows patience. _Not yet_, it says, _not yet_, and Kara listens, for once or twice. Kara moves lower, lips and tongue and teeth tracing Kat's collarbone, then lower still, licking Kat's breasts, swirling around nipples and lower, lower, feeling Kat grind against her thigh, hearing moans and muttered oaths and grins,_ maybe later_.

Kat knows Kara's playing with her, knows and growls and suddenly Kara's past her stomach, moving lower still, and Kat's so wet, Kara's blunt fingernails scraping against her inner thighs, touching dampness. If it was the first time, Kara would want to go slow, would want to drag it out for as long as possible, would want to make Kat beg, writhing and screaming and incoherent, but it is not the first time and Kara is through with patience.

Lower until Kara is between Kat's thighs and Kat is trembling, straining, arching back and _frak_ but Kara's relentless, licking and suckling and kissing and Kat is bucking against Kara's mouth, needing _more_. Kara understands, knows Kat refuses to beg, and crawls up Kat's body, along those curves she's already memorized, tucked into a small corner of Kara's mind where a small sliver of happiness resides, kisses Kat, rough and demanding, and Kat can taste herself on Kara's tongue.

Kara is still half-dressed and normally Kat wouldn't allow it, but Kat doesn't care anymore because Kara's fingers are right _there_ and it's _perfectperfectperfect_ and Kat can't think, can't breathe, but it's okay because she's coming hard and fast and long it's just so frakking _good_ and maybe Kara should just stop flying because, _gods_, she fraks like she was born to do it.

Kat lies there on the hard bunk, still trembling, sucking breath greedily into her lungs, Kara's arms around her as her heartbeat slows. She shifts, feels the fabric of Kara's uniform move against her skin, bites her lip and looks up into fiery brown eyes. Kara nods, and sits up, pulling off her boots, slipping off her pants, and Kat watches the tense-relax of muscles on Kara's back in the harsh white fluorescent, maps out the scars with her eyes wishing she could trace them with her tongue, memorize every inch of skin, feel the strength underneath.

Then Kara leans back down, pulls Kat close and smiles, does not smirk, does not laugh, and Kat thinks it makes her look beautiful, younger and not-Starbuck. Because though Starbuck is beautiful, she is wild and unpredictable and never gentle, not like Kara's rough fingertips brushing lightly against her skin. Kat cannot recall the last time she saw Kara smile, cannot recall ever seeing Kara smile, so this moment becomes special. Not that Kat will ever tell anyone. But Kat doesn't mind, doesn't mind at all, because despite the games and posturing, despite the anger and curses and glares, she knows Kara is constant, knows that Kara will never leave, can never leave. And as Kara settles down beside Kat, watching Kat drift into sleep, she ignores the tingling of her skin, the quickness of her breath, because next time Kat will come to her, hungry and wanting, and Kara will wait until then. So she lays her head down, feeling Kat's heartbeat, rhythmic and steady like the paced stomping of Kara's boots.

-end-

10.04.07, edited 10.11.07

_For femslashtoday's celebrate! good times porn battle_


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